


It A Piers With Eyes That Cannot Sea

by candycaneMiscreant



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Possessed Frisk, Post-Pacifist Route, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7142099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candycaneMiscreant/pseuds/candycaneMiscreant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans has an unpalatable revelation about the person he really should hate the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It A Piers With Eyes That Cannot Sea

They look like the ocean.

Full of shit, mostly. Garbage and plastic bottles. Specifically like that part of the ocean where all the worlds waste congregates to form a Shit Island. They look like the gross buildup of algae on the wood of the piers, years of their surrounding influence rotting all things that stay with them. They look like the ocean, in that 95% of them is unknown, and everything unknown about them will probably kill you. The 5% that is known will probably kill you too.

The analogy about the garbage thing wasn’t all pretense, either. They literally eat garbage. In fact, they are eating it right now. Sans has been watching them pick at a burrito they’d dug out from someone’s trashcan on the street side. He’d been walking silently beside them as they only partially dug out old bits of hair and some suspicious blue crap.

He’d say humans are weird, but this one was perhaps beyond the realms of weirdness.

Ironically, they hate the ocean. They had spent hours sitting on the beach with him, staring down the water, as if glaring at it will somehow force it to recede. Like somehow sheer willpower will influence the water enough to push it away from their existence. It took Sans a couple of years to figure out what the problem even was, because they refused to ever mention what the root of it could be. When he found out it was a paranoia of drowning, well, he couldn’t deny his grin grew a little wider at the absolute despair on their face at that moment.

They thought he would use it against them, probably. Because they’re a paranoid weirdo who eats garbage.

They’re also right, but he’ll wait a little longer for them to find that out.

“This tastes like _shit_ ,” The kid speaks, chewing at the garbage burrito. “Tastes more like a buttrito.” The day is a humid 73° outside and Sans can’t feel a bit of it on account of being nothing but bones, but he can appreciate the sun and appreciate the blue of the sky. He can especially appreciate the sweat accumulating around the wrinkles of their face as they trod along in the heat. Their posture is especially hunched, eyes focused on the molding cheese in human food wrap. They look miserable. It’s wonderful.

“garbage burrito nacho style?” Sans tilts his head, getting a better angle at the irritation and heat aggravation on their face. It was broken up by the crinkling of the skin around their eyes, lips pursing together in their weak attempt to cover a smile.

“I don’t want to taco’bout it.”

Their eyes flick over to look at him, eyebrows raised as they bite into their buttrito again. They are gauging his reaction. They don’t get much more from him beyond seeing him look away, but he knows very well how familiar they are with his body language, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were looking rather smug at the moment.

“alright. i don’t want to be jalapeño business.” He speaks, and he hears a dampened choking sound, followed by a startled yelp. His hand juts out before he realizes, and grips the collar of the kid’s shirt. The toe of their shoe is jammed into an uneven piece of sidewalk, their body suspended by Sans' grip. Their expression is wide and dripping with sweat. He can feel his own body stimulated with something like adrenaline, a buzzing sensation rolling through his bones. The fall wouldn’t have been bad, he tells himself. It would have been fine. A few scrapes.

The buttrito was a mess on the ground beneath them, and the kid’s hands were posed as though the bean and cheese concoction should still be in their dangling fingertips. He shouldn’t have caught them. It would have been fine. Tripping certainly wouldn’t be the most damning thing they’ve been through. The kid is still staring at the mess beneath them, though their brows have begun to furrow. His bones stir to life again.

“i guess this is why you can’t trust burritos... they always spill the beans.” He speaks. Their face turns towards him, eyes alight with absolute garbage and something else that makes his soul _burn_.

Their laugh is shaky.

Then, it is breathy. Then it’s loud, and then it is _loud_. And he can see the excitement in their eyes come in waves, connecting with his own, and he knows they can read his body language, so he stops having any. Though they can probably read that as well.

Doesn’t matter.

It takes a moment to realize that they have stood themselves up, and he has no reason to have his fingers clinging to the fabric of their shirt as tightly as he has them. The buzzing still hasn’t quite gone away, but god damn it. God _damn it_. He shouldn’t have caught them. He shouldn’t have caught them. He knows this is just like when he found out they fear drowning. It’s just one more thing they have on each other. It’s just one more endless stalemate.

They begin walking, slapping Sans on the back as they pass, and not looking back as they go forward into society. They walk in the shadow of trees, figure obscured, except for the trickles of light filtering through the leaves. It makes their body look greenish-blue, with specks of white. Like waves crashing against each other.

Sans steps over the buttrito, trailing after them.

If they’re the ocean, then he’s the damn pier stuck in the middle of it.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPfNIGSdTjI


End file.
